


when the knot grows tighter than fingers can untie

by anacruses



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death Fix, Fluff and Angst, M/M, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:08:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anacruses/pseuds/anacruses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Instead, he climbs, somewhat unsteadily, onto the parapet alongside Javert. He nearly stumbles, and Javert unexpectedly reaches a hand out to keep him from falling."</p>
<p>In which Valjean finds Javert on the bridge, and then there is some angsty talk and then some dumb kissing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when the knot grows tighter than fingers can untie

**Author's Note:**

> this is dumb and sappy and i need to start writing fic at times that aren't the small hours of the morning  
> first fic with an actual plot (kind of) in a while oh gosh

“Javert.” Valjean’s voice is softer than he intended, low and rough and nearly a whisper.

“Oh, go away.” Javert doesn’t move from where he stands on the edge of the parapet. What Valjean can see of his face is set and determined and deeply sorrowful.

“Javert,” Valjean says again. “Come down from there.”

Javert turns to face him; the once hard, sharp lines of his face are now softened somewhat, revealing for the first time his age and his weariness. “Why? What do you care?”

Valjean watches him for a moment, determines he won’t be jumping anytime soon, takes a few cautious steps forward. The Seine rushes distantly below them, a monster growling in the night. “I didn’t spare your life just to see you throw it away.”

Javert half-laughs, that brutal, humorless bark of his, but even that lacks the venom it once had. He turns away and says something unintelligible.

“I’m an old man, Javert. You’ll have to speak up.” Valjean edges closer, and—there. He’s close enough that he can catch Javert, if—well, if need be.

“I said I never asked for you to save me.” Javert looks down at Valjean. “You should have let me die. It was just.”

“There’s nothing _just_ in letting an innocent man die.” Javert is far from ‘innocent’, Valjean realizes; but he’d still only ever done what was asked if him, what was _expected_ of him; not to mention imagining Javert dead triggers an unpleasant coiling sensation in his chest. He shakes his head and dares to rest his hand gently on Javert’s leg. Javert shudders softly, but doesn't move away. “Come down from there; I do believe I’m under arrest. Pity to let a prisoner go free, especially one you’ve worked so hard to recapture.” Valjean’s voice sounds more bitter than he feels.

Javert shakes his head. “ _You’re_ free.”

Valjean’s brow furrows. “Is this the price of my freedom, then, Javert?” he asks, growing more impatient, more concerned. The past day has been long, and he is tired, and Javert is being _ridiculous_ and worrying him far more than he should like, given the circumstances. “Because if it is, then you can have it. It’s not worth… _this_." He hesitates. "It’s not worth you.”

“Valjean, I think you won back your freedom when you stole my death from me.” Javert laughs again, and it’s cold. “Once a thief, forever a thief.” 

Something in his tone makes Valjean shiver. “Javert, come down.”

“Valjean, go home.” Javert’s voice is nearly pleading now, a hint of desperation curling in on the edges.

Valjean swallows. Exhaustion settled deep within his bones hours ago, and he’s had enough trouble in the past few days to last him another lifetime. He wants nothing more than to go back home and sleep.

Instead, he climbs, somewhat unsteadily, onto the parapet alongside Javert. He nearly stumbles, and Javert unexpectedly reaches a hand out to keep him from falling. Valjean watches him with wide eyes, and puts his hand on Javert’s shoulder; they stand like that for a moment, motionless, with firm grips on the other, Paris no more than an inky blackness around and below them, the Seine worlds away; something stirs inside Valjean.

“Come down, Javert,” he repeats softly.

Javert shakes his head, avoiding Valjean’s gaze. “I can’t.”

Valjean tightens his grip on Javert’s shoulder. “You fall, I fall. That way, you don’t have to let me walk free, and I—”

Javert smirks. “You what, Valjean? Offer me your pity so you can die with a clear conscience?” He pulls Valjean closer, so their chests are nearly touching. “It’s not about you being free.”

“Then what _is_  it about, Javert?” Valjean whispers, pulling him closer still. “Come down and tell me.”

Javert just looks at him, with a strange mixture of hatred and desperation and something else Valjean can’t quite place. The knot in Valjean's chest tightens. “It’s about justice,” Javert says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Valjean sighs and renews his grip on Javert’s coat. “Please, Javert,” he tries again, knowing how weak and desperate he must sound.

“Why?” Javert asks softly. “Why save me? After all I’ve done to you?”

“I,” Valjean says, then hesitates. “I could never wish harm on you. Even if I tried.”

Javert half-smiles. “I’ve tried to kill you.”

Valjean lets out a huff of laughter, much to his own surprise. “And I don’t doubt you’d do it again. Just please. Not like this.”

Javert hesitates.

From this distance, Valjean can clearly see his features, and can see the exact moment he decides not to jump, a light blowing out behind his eyes, a final surrender to himself. To Valjean.

Javert nods weakly. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

“Thank you.” Valjean would release his grip on Javert, but he’s not sure that he himself wouldn’t fall. As it is, he steps shakily off of and away from the precipice, and holds out his hand for Javert to take. There is a split second, between when he lets go of Javert’s hand and when Javert reaches down for him again, a split second of fear that Javert will jump anyway. But no, Javert is true to his word; and even if he weren’t, Valjean senses he wouldn’t jump with an audience. He takes Valjean’s hand in his, and steps down from the parapet.

There is a moment, then, that they are both firmly on the ground but still clasping hands, and Valjean can feel a blade dangling precariously above them, ready to either separate then forever or cut off both their heads with one blow, and he knows the moment is now or never—but he’s not sure for _what_. His heart thuds in his throat, and he takes a breath, and decides to damn them both. He fists his hands in Javert’s collar, and pulls him in for—an embrace? He changes direction at the last second and presses his lips to Javert’s instead, hardly sure what he’s doing.

Javert stumbles backwards slightly and then he is kissing back, and it’s clumsy and awkward and too much teeth, and Javert is grabbing Valjean’s wrists, he is breaking away.

“Valjean,” he says, his voice rough. Valjean feels a deep flush of shame rise in his face.

He pulls away from Javert, thankful for the darkness. “I, ahh. Ahh.”

Javert shakes his head. “Idiot.” He pulls Valjean back and kisses him, better this time, hungrier, _warmer_ , and now there is a heat licking at the tension coiled in Valjean’s breast, and it is Valjean’s turn to stumble. 

“Oh,” he says, the flush in his cheeks deepening.

Javert’s eyes brighten softly—the friendliest Valjean has ever seen him—and he smooths his collar down. “You still haven’t changed my mind, you know,” he says, but his voice is unsure; still, Valjean settles back into uneasiness.

“Javert—” Javert holds up a hand, silencing him.

“Not tonight, Valjean. I will promise you that much.” He searches Valjean’s face steadily, sorrow still veiled behind his eyes. “Just tonight, for now.”

Valjean can’t help but to half-smile. “I’ve saved lives in less time than that,” he says. "Now. Can we get out of here?"

And as they walk away, Javert tenses like a bow string, his shoulder forward and his head bowed. Valjean places a hand gently on the small of his back, and it feels like a promise, and he could swear he sees Javert smile, just a bit.


End file.
